Layers of Fear
by MikeLegna
Summary: "You take another drink as the canvas looms in front of you. A light flickers dimly in the corner. You've created countless pieces of art, but never anything like... this. Why haven't you done this before? No matter, it shall be finished. No more distractions now." (Human!AU; based on the horror game Layers of Fear; more info inside; will be rated M later)


_**Hello again, my dearies! I swear I'll finish one of my stories one day but for now I needed to write this before I got crazy with the idea. For now I hope you'll enjoy the new story, be prepared for a lot of nonsense and crazy things running around and some drama because I have no control of my life anymore. This story is based on the horror game Layers of Fear, and if you haven't played it yet I suggest you to go and take a look at the concept. It's wonderful and amazing and agh ;v;**_

 _ **Anyway, thank you for taking your time to read and let's go into the first chapter!**_

 _ **Disclaimer: I don't own Rise of the Guardians nor the video game Layers of Fear.**_

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 _ **Summary:** You take another drink as the canvas looms in front of you. A light flickers dimly in the corner. You've created countless pieces of art, but never anything like... _this _. Why haven't you done **this** before? No matter, it shall be finished. No more distractions now. _ (human!AU; based on the horror game Layers of Fear)

 _ **Warnings:** violence; psychological horror; mentions of physical and mental abuse; main character death.  
(will be rated M later)_

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 _"I knew nothing but shadows and I thought them to be real."  
_ **― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray**

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 _ **Chapter I**_

For what seemed to be an entire lifetime all he knew and all he felt was the constant, never-ending white, pure and cold and silent as the grave. He didn't know how exactly long he had been in there, standing still in the middle of the nothingness but it did seem to be a long, long time indeed. Perhaps he was dead, already wrapped into Death's cruel embrace... It surely _looked_ so, yet he couldn't remember. There were a lot of things he couldn't really remember, no matter how much he tried to look in the depths of his mind for something familiar. He couldn't remember why he was in there, nor his name nor the shape of his face. He couldn't remember simple things as colors, smells, sizes and noises... and he knew it had meant **so much** once, in a place forever lost to him and his touch. His chest ached in a dreadful longing as his mind traveled far away from the white and the nothing and clung hungrily at forgotten memories that were no more than blurs and confused visions. He felt feverish and frostbitten at the same time, delusional and yet completely sane. **_Wrong wrong wrong_**. Everything was wrong and painful and tainted. He felt lost, hopeless and for some reason... it felt like he deserved it. It couldn't be true. Urgency and panic bubbled up his throath, constricting his breath and making him want to cry and scream and run away. _Get out get out I_ need _to get out please let me out-_

But how could he escape a place with no doors nor windows?  
No, there was something missing... Something important that needed to be remembered. He _needed_ to remember.

If he did, something **would** change on that never-changing abyss.

If he did, he could go home...

Home, home, _home_. The word echoed softly on his mind over and over again. A feeling coursed through his convulsing body, nameless and completely alien to him. He couldn't recall what it exactly meant but it had been important, more important than the colors and smells of fresh paint and the softness of an empty canvas... It had been something he loved and cherished with all his being, with all his heart that now was weeping pitifully for whatever it was. He wanted it back, he needed it, to love, to hold, to remember... Eyes pressed closed, he allowed himself to get lost in the feeling that simply wouldn't go away, wouldn't ease nor disappear into the mess that were his thoughts. The darkness that surrounded him in that moment felt right, warm and comforting and real. _Home home home_ it chanted again, luring and lulling him with its sweet voice. Home meant warmth and reality, an escape from the void his soul had fell into. He wanted to go home.

And in the moment a lightning crashed outside, loud and powerful and terrifying, was the moment he became fully aware of his surroundings. He blinked once, twice and nothing vanished as he had half expected. White was no more, replaced by countless colors that he didn't even remember that existed at all. His heart pounded dangerously fast against his ribcage and his fingers trembled helplessly, eager to touch and feel and _ah there was so much to see, so much to explore_. The familiarity was overwhelming, crushing the emptiness and coldness that still laid within his chest. This was home. A crooked, hoarse noise that barely resembled a laughter left his lips. Home home he was finally home. The memories were lost to him yet, shattered and blurred as old glass but there was no time to focus on that for he had just noticed, filled with something that could be called 'glee', that _he could move_.

He twirled and bounced around the small room, laughing as a child that had found a new toy, touching and holding anything his pale, cold hands could reach until there was nothing else to find, to remember. The books had been looked over, blank papers thrown away or discarded as useless. The confusing painting on the wall was... _unsettling_ , as if it didn't belong there and claimed to be placed on its right place. His fingers traced every line and drop of paint slowly, with the gentleness as one would touch a lover. There was a strange feeling gnawing in his stomach and refusing to let go, something akin to... _adoration_. How could it be? His blurred mind didn't comprehend the extentions of the supressed burning on his chest, and for an exact minute he stood still, eyes completely focused on the details of the precious image. There was love pouring from it, a kind of obsession that didn't even feel... **sane**.

A new lightning crossed the darkened skies, yet completely sultry in his ears.

A door cracked open slowly, almost quietly behind his back, and a childish curiosity washed over fear in less than a second because there was more, much more to see and touch and discover...! And maybe, oh maybe he could even remember his own name or at least how his face looked like. _IneedtorememberIneedtorememberIneedto-_ his head ached in a feverish agony and he hesitated no more. The first steps into the new room had been quiet, barely contained as he paced further into what seemed to be a house. Yes that was the right word, and a flush of supressed happiness cleared his tormented senses. _HomeitlookslikehomeI'mhome_. For a moment he stood too still, feeling the disturbing silence around him. It shouldn't be too quiet, and even if he couldn't remember the reason why the silence felt so wrong, so out of place, something on the back of his head nudged against his mind painfully. Something was still missing, something bright and loud and _**loved**_.

Lovelovelo-

A weep echoed, so soft and so sudden that for a second he doubted his faltering sanity. Shaking hands grabbed the dusty table in front of him, his body looking for the support his legs couldn't offer anymore. Home wasn't supposed to feel so bitter, so cold and... dead. Something was gone, something he had hold dearly once and why couldn't he just remember everything?! And before he had enough time to notice his doings the table had been pushed away harshly, its rotten wood breaking easily under the brute force he didn't even know he still possessed. It shouldn't be happening, it shouldn't- another sob caught his attention, louder and filled with a _feeling_ that invaded his heart... like a child crying in the purest agony, and it made his blood crawl under his skin in fear and despair. He wanted it to stop just like before but the weeping never ceased, coming from nowhere at all but always there, hiding in a shadow of a corner or hushing behind his back whenever he moved around.

 _Stop it please let me **help** please_...

Then it was gone, taking the breathtaking, overwhelming sensation with it. He sulked in a harsh breath, his heartbeats fast enough to make him feel his ribcage cracking. Everything was fine now... no reasons to worry anymore. There was still too much to see, after all...

The stairs creaked under his feet as he decided to explore the second floor. It smelled like old wines, forgotten for too long on one's cellar, yet it wasn't as unpleasant as he had expected. It resembled a sweet familiarity he couldn't even describe, and he dwelled on the empty corridor for longer than necessary only to allow himself to memorize the scent. The piano refused to offer him any kind melody, and soon he focused on moving into rooms and unlocked doors and-

White. It was all white again but this time he didn't back away. The child's room was wonderfully bright and comfortable, filled with countless toys and colorful drawings and... what, _what_ was that? He couldn't remember, he simply couldn't! Soft giggles that weren't his filled the dusty air, sending calming waves through his body. Happiness. Sweet, simple, precious happiness. How could've he forgotten? He moved closer to the white bed, his fingers tracing the details carved into the wood until he found an old doll that had been the most loved one in there once. He brought it to his chest, yet nothing came into his mind as he had desired. He sighed, wondering why he felt so... _disappointed_.

Fragments.  
There was so much to remember yet he could only glimpse **fragments** , like trying to peek at a painting behind the keylock.

Something stirred on the depths of his mind, bitter and nasty as if it didn't belong there at all, pushing against the inner defense he didn't even know that existed. The unpleasant feeling didn't last long and soon he found himself exploring a new room, bigger and darker and filled with so many books and shelves that he'd spend an entire day only trying to count them. The giant painting on the wall behind the desk caught his attention for a glimpse of moment, for it lacked the passion and beauty of the other paintings he had seen before. It looked dull, _unwanted_ , a mistake that the artist refused to throw away even if it meant nothing to them. A scribbled note on the desk seemed more interesting, and his fingers gripped it quickly. The handwriting was delicate and, although a bit rushed, beautiful.

Was it _his_ handwriting? No, it couldn't be and he only needed a glance to his calloused, long fingers to be sure. He hadn't been alone in there. He had... someone else. It should've been obvious by the child's room yet things were still connecting into his mind, little dots taking their sweet time to move and cling at another, forming an entire little picture in his head. He had time to dwell on that later. Once more his eyes fell on the paper, wondering to who the words were meant.

 _I left your keys on the first drawer.  
_ _You should pay more attention to where you keep leaving them._

A shadow of smile tugged at his lips when the wave of familiarity passed through him as a gust of wind, lasting for a second yet marking his heart with its warm sensations. He wanted it to come back and linger for a little longer, a little deeper yet he knew it was too much to ask for. He needed to move on. An old cooper key, small and too cold, was indeed on the drawer and for a moment he wondered which door it could open before slipping it into his front pocket. There was yet another room to check on the second floor, one last rotten door in the end of the corridor behind the piano. To his deepest disappointment the stupid piece of wood didn't even bugde under his efforts and the key he had found on the office didn't fit on the keylock. How could something so old be so... _resistant_? Soon his mind drifted away and back to the first floor, his body following close quickly. He looked through and through yet nothing he found claimed his interest completely. Nothing brought back the memories he longed so desperately to recover, nothing made that strange feeling from before wiggle in his chest again.

Everything was dull, numb, **unloved**.  
Something important was missing, lost in the dark void that filled his heart and mind.

And then there was a locked door he hadn't noticed until now. The key fit perfectly, and with a gentle push the door moved open. Inside was a mess of papers and colors splashed everywhere. On the floor, on the walls... So many new things to see, to touch, to use! _IwantitIneeditit'sminemineIwanttopaintagainIneedto-_ A storming feeling crashed against him like an avalanche the moment he stepped into the luring workplace, stealing the air out of his lungs. He couldn't breath, he couldn't move and it was just **too much** to bear. Fear invaded and gnawed at every inch of his fragile mind, making him shiver and sob in pure desperation and revulsion. _Makeitstoppleasemakeit **stop**!_ And then warmth spread through his shaking body, clearing his senses gently and tugging him further into the room. He trusted the soft warmth as one would trust a dear friend. His eyes got lost on the mess of colors and papers that was the place, his fingers caressed broken brushes and empty jars yet something was amiss. A covered painting easel caught his attention and for a long time all he could do was stare at it, eyebrows furrowed as he wondered what could be hidden under the dirty cloth.

He took a step closer. And another, and another.

His lips quivered as the warmth disappeared, leaving him as numb and cold as the rooms he had visited. What should he do? Carefully he raised his hands and grabbed the cloth, pulling it away from the canvas with a single movement. Well he couldn't say he was expecting to find nothing but a blank canvas yet something on the middle of his blurred, confused memories seemed to lighten up. He heard a soft gasp echoing as realization finally dawned on him, and it took him a second to understand that shameful noise had come from his own lips. It didn't matter though, not now at least. There were more important things to worry about, like the pieces of memory that flowed into his thoughts easily as if he had never forgotten them at all.

Kozmotis. His name was Kozmotis Pitchiner. That was his home. His paintings, his life. He had had a family, but they... they were _**gone**_. How? He couldn't remember yet, but he had a feeling that... maybe if he finished it, his magnum opus, they'd come back to him. They'd love him.

Yes, yes. It'd work. He could finish it this time.  
He _would_ , no matter the cost.

The anguished weeping didn't even make him shudder as he crossed the first floor towards the stairs.

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 _ **Thank you for reading! Please, leave a review if you'd like me to write more chapters~! It'd be great and make me happy!  
See ya!**_


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